


The Personification of Night

by Rayify



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Existentialism, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayify/pseuds/Rayify
Summary: Everything was perfect, except when they were not. This imperfection awakened the eldritch being known as Nyx—It was the beginning of her personification, and she had Minato Arisato to blame; Minato Arisato to thank.





	The Personification of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Warden and his Prisoner](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/351621) by Z3R0 K1N6. 



> Crossposted from Fanfiction.net.

Once, I believed that the ideas behind love were manufactured and contrived little things, where the most you would obtain from them was a split second's worth of 'warm and fuzzy' before the 'heartbreak' settled in.

The boy, Minato, stared at the rose in his hand, brighter and more durable than any rose had any right to be. The leaves were cheap fabric, and the petals, dried frog's skin.

Humans procured various oddities from department stores, where smiles were cast from plastic, and every motion, every piece of advice was polished to the point where polishing became more of a problem than the regular wear and tear of time's hand. These oddities were then given to the object of affection in hopes of winning their hearts, as if they were things to be won.

He refused to think of his heart, or any, for that matter, as such. After all, it was becoming jaded by the hour, and it wasn't to mean, in some terrible play of words, that his heart was turning to semiprecious stone on an auctioning pedestal. Minato threatened to tear the rose apart in his hands, pressure homing in on a single point of weakness in its synthetic stem.

A gift from some admirer. He did not care.

This was not what his heart yearned for. Feeding it ersatz garbage only smothered what embers of passion were left inside him; never kindled it.

Not to get the matter confused: He cared for his friends deeply and he would do nothing short of offering his life to protect them.

Fuuka's cooking. Aigis's tears. Akihiko's smirks. Koromaru's barks. These were only four of many friends that he'd met that year, and they were precious artefacts that demanded his protection and loyalty. All of them were strong and admirable people, and if they weren't, he forged them into such—not for power, as much as the social link would benefit him.

Even so, Minato was tired of… this. His lips drew into a thin line, the pressure in his fingers subsiding.

He was missing something; of that, he was almost certain. After all, no matter how much he hit that coveted 'rank ten', it did nothing but fill him with guilt. Minato had never once wished for any of his friends to fall in love with him.

On their part, he supposed it would be genuine love, but for what?

Minato chided himself, fingertips brushing against the artificial thorns of the rose. He had given them his full attention and did everything he could for them. Their lives were precious, and he wanted them to live happily. After all, life (and quite equally, death) was meaningless, but happiness was all they had to make their short existences worthwhile. The sense of accomplishment and relief that blossomed in his chest was real.

So why, then, did he still feel empty?

It was as he'd told Pharos once before: He felt like there was something missing from his journey, and, even though January was fast approaching the end of its thirty-first cycle, Minato still felt this odd absence hidden away, like a small chink in his otherwise fulfilled heart.

As Dark Hour struck, and the greatest of ordeals came to bear upon SEES, his heart was aflutter with anxiousness, as if that chink was slowly being chipped away, pickaxe ever insistent on breaking it open. With a quiet fear, he forged the Universe Arcana and came to face the end of humanity with intrepidity and determination.

He heard his friends' cries chorus from below as his body lifted effortlessly up against the roars of the moon looming above, staring up into the face of what should've been certain death. As his tiny form was swallowed up in the moon's voracious maw, his vision was engulfed with white, on the doorstep to what humans often described as 'the light'.  _That_  final light, that is.

The onslaught that my avatar had begun earlier was continued within the confines of the moon, Minato still somehow standing against my attacks.

In perhaps the second, or the fourth time that he survived the barrage, I thought I saw that chink in his heart widen into a crack. Perhaps it was just my imagination. His power was tremendous; enough to defeat that which was deemed unstoppable and inevitable. It was a veritable feat.

Still. There was  _something_  missing. Despite the friends which anyone would no doubt claim were the source of his power—indeed, the power of his bonds was something to behold on purely objective level—Minato still felt an ounce of doubt, which grew into a pound, then into a stone…

It would best be described as the nagging feeling that all of  _this_  was fictitious, false and phony.

Minato knew that he would never choose to go back on his decision for the world, quite literally, but that growing doubt plaguing his soul in the Great Seal pervaded his being.

Ultimately, he knew. The Universe Arcana could easily inform him, but the thought scared him. Even a human as extraordinary as he was not infallible.

I don't really know  _why_  I did it. Perhaps the confusion storming within Minato stirred up this now inexplicable thirst for worldly knowledge. I asked him, "Is it so hard to accept?"

I, truthfully, am not quite certain what I expected. Minato had enough power in his grasp to understand the babblings of an immortal deity conceived at the dawn of time. Though, even a description such as that failed utterly to explain every aspect of my existence—did time really have a 'beginning'?—for it raised more questions than answers.

Even the words you read are Minato's suggestions, for eldritch discourse is indecipherable to ordinary humans. Not that Minato is any 'ordinary' human, of course.

Minato seemed surprised to hear the voice of his captive. I do not believe he could have expected an attempt to communicate from a 'being like me', as he would put it. The amazement that would be directed towards a 'being like me' was justly so: Prior to meeting Minato, I did not possess what he would normally be cognizant of as a mind. Perhaps being in close proximity to one of the tamed fragments of my psyche woke it after many years—too many to count.

"Yes," he replied, that familiar intrepidity rising up in his voice.

Why?

"Nyx… I care about my friends more than anything. But until now, I'd never figured out what was missing from my journey," Minato replied. "I feel, in a way, fulfilled, because it is my honour to protect them, but to finally know the thing that was missing almost… makes it feel futile.

"I… I don't want to die, not at all. But…"

I pondered for a moment what feeling he was trying to pinpoint. "It is incredulous, in a way, to believe that you feel  _lonely_ , of all things, whilst you were surrounded by more people than you would need in a lifetime," I agreed. "You are surrounded, yet you are alone."

Minato hesitated to answer, but I knew that I was correct. "Yeah."

"I believe I know why you feel that way." He did not speak, so I could only assume that he was letting me continue, or he was ignoring me. Either way, this facsimile of emotion which I thought was made possible only because of Minato drove me to continue. "It is not wrong to believe that the bonds you make with people are powerful. That is, of course, why I am able to have this conversation with you in the first place," I began, "but you must realise that as long as humans are alive, their minds are surrounded, yet, ultimately, perhaps regrettably, alone."

He gave what would be a sigh. "I… I got to know everyone, on some level. But did they get to know me?"

That, I could not answer.

"I do not know, Minato," I replied. "But perhaps this meeting was not the worst of circumstances. Though I may not fully comprehend, I am… 'curious' about you Minato, if you wish to speak your soul."

There was a rush of cold air in his 'lungs', and his 'blood' turned to ice. Just as quickly, the shock melted, giving way to a tempestuous influx of doubt and happiness. I would not blame him, either.

"I would love that," he said.

Responding to his will, power flooded a plain, like paint spilled across canvas; memories like pigment; details like the finest brush. This 'Gekkoukan High School Rooftop', and truthfully, the rest of the human world that he called home, had beauty, just as the cosmos had mystery; of that, I was near certain. Ryoji had told me about such a world, where the sun's gaze was gentle, where the moon's bounty spread like milk, where one could not help but admire the mundane, yet undeniably beautiful, such as the daintiness of a dancing flower, or the smell of black pine whipping through the forests, or the taste of salt, mischievous on the tip of one's tongue.

Cynical as I can be, I had to admit that when I felt it all through Minato's senses, I could see why Ryoji would think this way. For me, food, nor water was a necessity. In fact, not one bit of this world was necessary, but even ephemera had its short-lived charms. The sensation of touch, of smell, was foreign to me. Quite simply, an excess of information that I had never processed before, and it was something I'd come to revel.

Minato's old form appeared, eyes glistening with the sunset light waving goodbye on the ocean horizon, hair ablaze with the breezes of windmills, gleaming in the distance. He looked upon the form I had chosen with nothing short of awe. He knew me as 'the light', but here, I appeared to him as 'primordial being', possessing 'form', but still 'formless'. The only thing that was certain was the white mask, acting as a 'face'.

His gaze pleaded an explanation for the being before him: Why the flowing, blackest curtain of dark? Why the blue orbs, shimmering like nebulae straining for life from the remains of a dying star? Why the light, like porcelain, a shimmering mosaic in the murk of space?

Why the beauty of night?

I had been sat down next to him, and it was from there that he found the peculiarity amongst the splendour: The exquisite, torturous cold as expected of a place possessing no heat besides the stars, ever fretting for life. Still, "Thank you," Minato said.

"I believe it is my honour, for you are not the only one indulging your emotions," I replied smoothly, sitting calmly next to this marvel of a boy.

Minato let the shock on his face pass. "I see…" He diverted his gaze, back to the landscape which he'd come to treasure that year. "I never imagined that I'd be here, basically complaining about my problems to my 'enemy'."

"That makes two of us."

He just laughed, leaning back on the heels of his palms as he let the wind carry a little part of him away, like a slice of his soul blown away to countless worlds unknown, searching for adventure. A day dream, by any other name. "What does your heart yearn for?" I asked.

Minato smiled, but I could feel the pinch of sadness quietly whirling in his stomach. "I realise… I spent so long trying to understand others. I don't regret it. But… no-one's really come close to understanding me," he explained. "I get it. I'm a mirror, and because I reflect what others desire, just the right way… I suppose that they fall in love with themselves.

"They don't fall in love with 'me', I would say." He shook his head. "After all is said and done, I believe that's what I'm missing."

All the while, I felt his emotions rise up within me, as if the fragment of Shadow inside him was gently resonating. It was nothing malign, for Minato had control over the best and the worst parts of himself. "Is it still missing now, at this moment, as you pour your heart out to me?"

He paused, and then said, "No. I feel a bit better already."

I nodded, for not much was coming to mind. It was too long since I have tried to have a conversation with anyone, much less a human, as extraordinary as he is. "Minato. There is not much to gain from the two of us trying to understand each other," I eventually spoke, watching the amber sky scroll into colours of pink and violet. He looked at me curiously. "I do not mean to say that the endeavour of understanding others is a futile effort. You have shown that to me, firsthand."

"Is it because you're just… feeding off the piece of you inside me? The Shadow, now a Persona?" Minato suggested, and I nodded. "I suppose it would be more like I'm just talking to myself, wouldn't it? But I guess crazier's happened before." He just chuckled, though I could not quite discern whether he was trying to make light of the situation, or if he was hiding something darker.

There was a moment of silence as we two thought of what to say next, not at all uncomfortable. It was only a tender peace. "Minato, do you believe me to be a separate entity, all my own, then?" I asked. It would be inaccurate to suggest that I appeared to be humanoid. "Is that why we are still here, watching night engulf your precious world?"

"Yeah. Of course I do," Minato replied. "Despite what I know about you and your power… I feel like it could be distinct from every other human that you live in." It should be said, that Shadows themselves are fragments of my shattered psyche, awaiting the rise of their mother. "There's these bits of minutia that make every human distinct. And there's nothing to say that the little bit of humanity inside you now can't grow into something that is unique from mine, because those little bits of personality always change and morph into something new, every day. Identity is fluid, after all, and it's always changing. That's what I think, anyways, if my powers of Persona mean anything."

All of what he said was gathered from his experience in forming bonds with others. This property that humans possessed—to be able to change their identities over time—was proof of the infinite forms by which their power could manifest. "You really believe that someone like me can transform themselves so." But I am not human.

This form was only the closest approximation of 'human', and even then, perhaps by Minato's standards, I probably did not look human at all.

Minato reached with his hand, a hesitant look in his eyes. For what purpose? Why hesitate? In any case, I did not mind, perhaps  _because_  of this unclear motive. I could feel this strange emotion rising up from within him that somehow assuaged any fear that he might do something hurtful.

When he placed his hand upon me, there was this odd sensation. I found it similar to the sun's calloused fingers, reaching far and wide, wrapping the world in its bright embrace. Yet, it was really a human's: Undeniably discrete. It was a gentle, tender touch, like the soft hug of wispy clouds.

"Sorry, um… You don't mind, do you?" Embarrassed? Apologetic?

"Why would I?" I asked, still perplexed at the reason behind his emotions. "It is rather… new, but nothing that would cause pain. I do not quite understand the human custom of…"

"Personal space," Minato supplied, giving a squeeze with his hand. "I just… I guess it's a bad habit," he supposed, "from when I was still comforting others. I guess I almost couldn't help it."

"Almost?"

Minato chuckled wryly. "I guess… Nyx, what I'm saying is… Do you  _mind_? What is it that you want?" He removed his hand, looking down at his fingers. "I… I don't  _want_  to impose my will upon you. That isn't right."

I peered at him, curious as to his constantly morphing opinions and emotions. Humans were truly complex little things. "Minato, I came here to speak with you not out of malice, or to ask of you much, other than questions and knowledge which…" When I looked down at myself, there was only the enormity of my 'gorgeous', yet eldritch form. "They are questions a being of my nature have never known, for I, myself, am not human.

"I have been asleep for eons, until the cries of my children were able to reach me," I explained, "And because of that, I only have passing erudition regarding the workings of emotion, personality, identity…" Minato seemed sympathetic to the thought. Perhaps even empathetic. "Your soul awakened this—admittedly—dreadful replica of identity and… curiosity. That is, in you."

He tried hiding his smile behind his fingers—hiding that spot of happiness trying to fill in that crack in his heart. "I… I don't know what to say. But, if that's what you really want…" Minato trailed off, as if asking me to interject.

"My second desire is to see whether you are right." His eyes widened at my words. Perhaps he was not even sure if he could take  _himself_  seriously when he spoke to me about the evolution of the psyche. "It will only be the two of us here, I have to say. And we have only an eternity to see that through."

A moment passed, refreshing the air with the scent of cherry blossoms. So that was the season he'd chosen… The ephemera of blooming flowers, making a short, yet bombastic performance in spring's procession. He was truly the sentimental type, I observed, for  _this_  was the memory he'd chosen to preserve for our meeting place.

And Minato, taking the scent in, smiled, doubly so. "Well… I don't have anything to lose, I suppose." The image of a rose appeared in his hand, where leaves were sleek, lively factories, siphoning life from the encroaching moonlight, and the petals were blood ruby velvet suffused with nectar sweetness. "But I do have everything to gain." He held it out to me, gingerly placing it in my fingers.

"Nyx, would you do me the honour of being my companion? To help each other learn? To fulfil each other's needs?" he asked, trying to hold his shaky smile in place. Try as he might, however, Minato could not hide the reddish colour rushing through his cheeks.

Somehow, I smiled, able to understand a little of what he felt. "Of course, Minato." I put the head of the rose to my mask, letting the earnest scent drift through my being, memorising the sugar, and the deep, pungent undertones. "Why the rose?"

Minato just chuckled. "It's a symbol of love. It's my hope that whatever happens, we  _can_  come to fulfil each other's needs," he tried to explain. "I think the 'romantic' part is a bit overdone, though."

"Yes, that fake rose you were given is of no comparison, I agree," I replied. It was my small attempt at a joke, though, I am not certain whether that was conveyed well enough, or if I did it correctly in the first place.

He laughed, regardless. "You have no idea…" Minato then stood, and held out his hand. "Should we go?"

And I took it, intertwining my fingers with his.


End file.
